


Define "Good"

by ishka



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishka/pseuds/ishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The only way I’m getting rid of the sweater is if it’s damaged beyond repair. So you’ll have to deal with me wearing it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Define "Good"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popnographic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popnographic/gifts).



> [Popnographic](http://popnographic.tumblr.com) and I came up with two divergent prompts using the same terrible Christmas sweater premise so we divided and conquered to bring both to reality because that's just what we do.
> 
> Companion fic is [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5383751)

“You know what I fuckin’ hate?”

Haruka sighs. “Yes, but repeat yourself again if it makes you feel better.”

“Holidays with my parents.” Sousuke unlocks the door to their house with more aggression than he probably needs to use, then throws the door open and whimpers unabashedly at the sight of their quiet, small space that is all theirs and theirs alone. Haruka almost can’t blame him; four days with the Yamazaki clan was nothing short of a rattling, overwhelming experience. They’re loud, they drink a _lot_ , and Haruka is one-hundred percent certain not even Sousuke has ever hugged him as much in three years as his mother did within the first twelve hours of arriving. 

He now understands why Sousuke insists they stay in every year for Christmas. That whole scene is good for some crowds, but really too much for the two of them. They all meant well, but Haruka isn’t a fan of people with no regard for personal space and Sousuke isn’t a fan of anyone who blatantly ignores Haruka’s body language and polite requests. 

Haruka stumbles through the threshold with arms full of _boxes_. So many _things_ from aunts and uncles and cousins and whoever they picked up off the street. One of those families that puts a lot of junk in decorative bags and only thinks to address a recipient _after_ it’s hidden and they’ve forgotten what they’ve placed inside. He’s never known a Japanese family so damn into Christmas, but then again they seem the type to look for any excuse to pull these miniature family reunions. 

Sousuke drops their duffel bag with the unspoken intention to deal with the laundry later, and turns to grab a few items off the top of Haruka’s stack so it doesn’t all tumble over when he tries to squat and put it down. “What are we going to do with all of this?” he mutters irritably.

Haruka eases the boxes down and stands, wiping his hands on the front of his pants of invisible grime. “Let Ren and Ran pick through it first, then donate the rest.”

“Good plan.” Sousuke drops his stack unceremoniously once he’s close enough to the ground that it won’t all spill out in a disarray. Still, a bag tumbles over and he kicks it away with a grunt. “I need a scalding hot shower or I think I’m going to lose- Haruka!”

He’s darting up the stairs before Sousuke can finish that sentence, because he’s the one covered in a film of _touch_ and waxy lipstick, not Sousuke. He’ll be damned before he lets Sousuke get that shower first. Sousuke’s thundering stomp behind him pushes him into an adrenaline-laced sprint, and he latches the bathroom door locked just as Sousuke collides with it.

“I hate you, Nanase,” he whines, a weak fist thumping the door in defeat.

He’ll pay for it, but priorities are just that, and Haruka would rather Sousuke flushed the toilet on him and forced the water to run cold than die of tuberculosis _and_ hepatitis A which he’s afraid he may’ve contracted from at least one of those snotty, hacking cousins of Sousuke’s.

As a compromise, he only takes a mildly warm shower so Sousuke can make an earnest attempt of boiling his skin off when it’s his turn, and the grump in question shoves him out of the bathroom as soon as Haruka unlocks the door and slams it shut again. Big baby. 

Haruka wanders downstairs in his towel with the intent of starting some rice and shudders, having forgotten there’s been no heat circulating in his house for a few days and so it’s freezing. One of the junk bags catches his eye. The one Sousuke kicked away. Some garish green material is spilling from it, looks to be a sweater. Good enough. He picks it up and pauses before putting it on, realizing it says something stupid.

_Dear Santa,_

_Define “good”._

He snorts and pulls it over. It’s huge and at least covers his thighs, so he drops the towel and re-ups his task of getting some food started. 

The rice is set a few minutes later and Sousuke’s knack for a blazingly quick shower hasn’t wavered, as the water upstairs shuts off as soon as Haruka shoves the cooker towards the back of the counter so it’s out of the way for stage two: mackerel prep. Sousuke’s in _‘I am an angry gorilla and I will stomp and thrash around so everyone knows it’_ mode, and Haruka rolls his eyes. He’s so dramatic sometimes.

“Oh _fuck_ me it is cold,” Sousuke gripes from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Stop whining about everything,” Haruka calls, if only to annoy him more. 

Angry simian feet start towards him, then abruptly stop. Haruka turns around to face him. “You could try a _shirt_ for starters if you’re so cold,” he remarks, looking Sousuke up and down in his thin cotton pants. 

“You could try _pants_ literally whenever, any day now. Like, just in general.”

“You like it,” Haruka accuses, a small smile on his lips.

Sousuke narrows his eyes, then scrutinizes what Haruka’s actually wearing. “What the _hell_ is that abomination on your body?”

Haruka shrugs. “May’ve been from Uncle Yamada.”

His glare doesn’t relent, and instead Sousuke turns and stomps away and back up the stairs. Haruka returns to cooking for them both even if his boyfriend has assumed the identity of an escaped zoo convict for the night. He barely gets the griddle in place before the ruckus comes back downstairs, into the kitchen, and right up against him. Sousuke shoves him against the countertop, startling a gasp from Haruka.

“You’re being a shit,” Sousuke murmurs to his ear.

“You’re being a drama queen,” Haruka retaliates.

Sousuke’s hands smooth down his sides and around the front of his legs, fingers dragging roughly up the insides of his thighs. “Are you in a position to criticize me?”

Haruka snorts. “I think I’m in the _best_ position to criticize you.”

Sousuke’s unamused, and lets Haruka’s legs go. He pulls Haruka’s hips back to make more space between Haruka and the edge of the counter, and palms over his crotch through the sweater. The fleece lining isn’t something Haruka was focused on until this moment in time, but it’s quickly occupying most of his capacity for thought. One of the contaminated cousins had to sleep on the floor of their room over the holiday, and Haruka would be lying if he said he was perfectly okay with waking up for four mornings in a row to Sousuke’s, ah, _frustration_ and being able to do nothing about it for him. 

“I don’t think you fit any definition of _good_ ,” Sousuke continues as Haruka’s cock hardens under his ministrations. “And that sweater is fucking _hideous._ Ditch it.”

He could play this coyly, but forget it, honestly. It’s been a long week. “The only way I’m getting rid of it is if it’s damaged beyond repair. So you’ll have to deal with me wearing it.”

Sousuke chuckles, but it isn’t over any sort of joke, more out of a challenge he’s just accepted. “Don’t move,” he commands, releasing him. Haruka lets out a whine through his nose at the lack of hand over his half-a hard-on and the release of pressure Sousuke’s been putting on his suddenly-eager ass with his hips. The back of the sweater is ruched up, the slide of the fleece on back making him stiffen in anticipation, and Sousuke pulls his hips out further. He kicks the inside of Haruka’s foot to make him spread, and presses a heavy palm between his shoulderblades to force him to bend forward.

“Better pull those sleeves up now,” he says with an edge of menace to hide his Worried Doting Boyfriend tone, “wouldn’t want you to slip and break your face while I’m fucking you.”

Haruka obliges quickly, using the edge of the counter to push up the fabric so that he has a bit of purchase on the laminate and as soon as he does it Sousuke’s grabbing at his ass with one hand and slipping his slicked fingers in with the aid of the lubricant he apparently summoned from hammerspace, or maybe that’s what he ran back upstairs for, but it’s hardly important. 

Haruka groans in _relief,_ missing that shock of cold and the subtle stretch of getting started. He works him slowly, a stubborn pace of negative gain, until Haruka pushes onto him in impatience. “No one _good_ likes this as much as you do,” Sousuke laughs. 

“Is this your dirty talk?” Haruka growls. “Try harder.”

He gets what he asks for at least with another finger, and Sousuke’s free hand pulls up under Haruka’s chin as he picks up the pace. Haruka’s head is stretched back so he can see Sousuke out of his periphery, who’s regarding him predatorily for lack of a better word. Escaped zoo convict indeed. Haruka’s throwing a shout to the ceiling of their kitchen when Sousuke spreads his fingers apart more, pulling on his neck to bend his back down more and pushing in deeper as a result. The fleece Haruka so admired a moment ago is going by way of _stifling,_ and his cock is sliding against it with an odd sensation of resistance when he starts to leak precum. It’s both the worst and best friction he’s ever felt.

Sousuke lets him go and pulls his hands away to tend to himself long enough for Haruka to nearly catch his breath, but not long enough to free his damn erection from this torturous prison. Sousuke grabs his wrist hard when he tries. “You want to wear this fucking sweater? You’re going to _wear_ this fucking sweater.” But his grip slackens enough around his arm to tell Haruka if it’s really awful, go ahead, take it off, now’s your chance to bail. He doesn’t.

Sousuke slides into his ass steadily, but not teasingly. Haruka holds his breath and pushes himself down along his cock too to speed it up before he succumbs to overheating, and when Sousuke’s good and buried he reaches around front to stroke Haruka _through_ this _godforsaken straight-jacket._

Haruka whimpers on Sousuke’s first easy thrust, and moans from deep in his chest on every slam after that. Sousuke’s managed to get a steady pump sliding over his cock, the worst-and-best fleece making every point of contact so incendiary and soft but also dry and constricting. His mind doesn’t know how best to interpret it, but he’s all too eager to see where it takes him. Sousuke fucks in and starts to yank Haruka’s hips to him in rhythm for added intensity when Haruka’s whines pitch higher and more desperate. 

“It’s hot,” he breathes, “Sousuke, it’s- _ah, fu_ -ck, Sousuke it’s too much-”

He slows his movements and Haruka nearly wants to reach back and smack him. “Want to take it off?” Sousuke asks.

“No!” Haruka barks, pushing back on hitching breaths.

“...You wanted it,” Sousuke growls.

“I wanted it,” Haruka agrees, a breathy whine, and any other time it would be the understatement of the century.

“ _Wreck._ That. Fucking. Sweater,” he commands, a solid stroke on each word nearly drowned out by Haruka’s over-stimulated screams. The deep and thunderous rumble to Sousuke’s voice, the tight and awful and wonderful polyester-blended monstrosity he’s pulling Haruka’s orgasm through, the blessedly thick cock he missed a bit too much slamming into the hilt and stretching Haruka to his limit, his perfect place and angle Sousuke’s mapped every part of- Sousuke murmurs lowly and altogether how _hot_ Haruka is like this, how good and fucked he wants him to be- and that’s good enough. Haruka wrecks that fucking sweater and he sings a _melodious_ Christmas carol about it.

Sousuke mercifully releases him and digs his grip into Haruka’s hips to finish himself off quickly so he doesn’t hurt Haruka, and Haruka keeps right on going with the zoo animal metaphor for whatever noise _that_ is that’s ripped from Sousuke’s throat when he does. 

Haruka slouches onto his elbows, panting, and Sousuke pulls out. He wraps his arms around Haruka’s waist and pulls them both to ground of the kitchen. Haruka can’t peel out of the sweaty, debauched garment fast enough. Disgusting doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. He balls it up and pushes it away with his foot, as if it’s a live bomb.

Sousuke leans over and kisses him gently on the temple, then the cheek, then his lips. “Get rid of it.”

Haruka hums and takes Sousuke’s lips again, tamed and soft. Another thing he missed. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please don't try this at home. As always, you can catch up with my eternal SouHaru suffering in real time on [tumblr](http://iskabee.tumblr.com).


End file.
